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“It’s burnt crispy, Dane.”
“I didn’t burn it. I’m… marinating it.”
“You do that before you cook it. Right now, we’re marinating in smoke.” I put the lid on and turned to find him close behind me. He steadied me with his hands on my hips. My breath caught as I looked up at him, but my stomach chose that moment to growl. Loudly.
Dane threw his head back and laughed, pulling me in for a hug. “I guess that means I’m gonna have to let you take over so we can have something sooner rather than later.”
I leaned forward, resting my forehead on his chest for a brief moment before stepping back. “Yeah. I’ve gotta eat.”
“OK, sweetheart. What do you need?”
“Do you have some chicken stock or bouillon?”
“Above the stove on the left.”
I found what I needed before taking the lid off the pot and checking the chicken. The skin was scorched, but the meat wasn’t in any way done and I thought I might be able to salvage it.
I added the stock and several other things to make a savory sauce to simmer the chicken in. As I worked, Dane leaned against the counter next to the stove to watch. “You cooked for your grandmother.”
“For fifteen years.” I stirred as we talked. “She could barely stand before I finally had to get her full-time nursing care. I did everything before that.”
“Well, I can’t dispute your skills in the kitchen. Unlike me, you really can cook.”
I chuckled as I coaxed the chicken back from the edge.
“That should not have worked,” he said.
“Stock and patience.” I plated the chicken and mushroom sauce. “Same principle as most things.”
He stood next to me when I turned to set the plates down, shoulder to mine at the counter. He reached past me for the pepper, and his forearm brushed the back of my hand. I had to suppress a shiver at the contact. I noticed the hair on his arms stand up and had an almost overwhelming sense of relief that he seemed as aware of me as I was of him. He picked up the pepper and ground it over his plate, and I found a fork, and we both sat down.
My phone chimed with a message notification. I picked it up and glanced at it. I didn’t recognize the number, but noticed I had several voice mails from the same number. Ethan told me not to answer numbers I didn’t recognize.
I frowned. “I’m not supposed to answer phone calls from numbers I don’t recognize, but what about voicemails?” I looked up at Dane. “Should I listen?”
“I don’t see the harm,” Dane said.
“Shit,” I said as I unlocked my phone and saw the number of messages. “Six voicemails from the same number.” I met Dane’s gaze. “I’ve had my phone off to avoid temptation.”
He frowned. “Play them.”
I nodded before hitting play on the first one with the phone on speaker.
The voice was male with a voice that sounded roughened with age. “-- Ms. Sloan. I’m, ah --” A pause, papers rustling. “I’m calling on behalf of your grandmother’s estate. I was her attorney. We’ve been trying to reach you. It’s nothing urgent, please don’t worry. I just have some things of hers I need to pass along. Please do call me back when you have a chance. Thank you.” The man sounded a little formal and more than a little flustered.
Then the second message. “Ms. Sloan, this is Gregory Norris again about your grandmother’s estate. I apologize for the repeated attempts, but the estate is quite small, and your grandmother was very specific about her wishes. She wanted her things to go directly to you. I want to honor that. I’m in Terre Haute, but I’m happy to make arrangements to come to you. Please call.”
The others were more of the same. I looked at Dane to find he’d set down his fork and watched me intently. I hit play on the last message.
“Ms. Sloan.” He sounded older in this one, or maybe just tired. “This is -- well, I’ve left my name enough times, I think you’d know it by now. I wanted to let you know I’ll be coming to Nashville on Thursday. Your grandmother told me you might go to that area once she passed.” Of course, she knew. I never told my grandmother about anything to do with the trial or Dane or Mr. Sutton. But of course, my grandmother knew something was wrong. She knew me better than anyone. “I won’t bother you long. I just have a box that belongs to you. Some letters she wrote. Her rosary. A photograph she kept by her bed that she wanted you to have. She talked about you every time I saw her. Every single time.” A pause. Long enough I thought the message had cut. “She was very proud of you. I’ll see you Thursday. Take care of yourself, Ms. Sloan.” The voicemail ended.
Chapter Twelve
Dane
The lawyer’s voice faded and the kitchen got quiet. I looked at Brielle’s hand on the phone, at the plates on the counter from the dinner she’d salvaged.
Terre Haute.
